


The Wolf, The Witch and the Animagus

by Caenea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Muggle Technology, Threesome - F/M/M, playrooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caenea/pseuds/Caenea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus and Sirius stumble upon a closely guarded secret relating to Hermione, and are thrilled to discover that the prim Miss Granger is hiding something deliciously erotic and shameless from them. So, because they like to play, they invite the brightest witch of her age to join them in the playroom to help her relax a little after work...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remus

I stare at it. He stares at it. The computer stares defiantly back, as if challenging us to comment on the screen that is, incredibly, still lit. Hermione went tearing out the house not five minutes ago, late for a last-minute meeting. Passing by her study three minutes after, I heard the familiar hum of her computer. She brought it recently, not six months ago, to replace her old one. It’s the latest model, she assured us, fast, huge storage capacity. LCD screen. Neither of us knew what the hell that meant, but we let it just wash over us as she raved on about it. She did manage to persuade us to let her teach her how to use the thing, but we only said yes to get her to shut up. Now she’s done what she’s never done before - left the house without logging out her computer. It’s obvious what happened - the options box is up, saying “What do you want to do?” then giving the options of “log off, shut down, restart.” She must have clicked shut down and just run out, forgetting the second step.

“We should shut it down,” I suggest, still staring at it.

“We should,” he agrees. “But we should probably close the window before we do.” Sure enough, in the bar at the bottom of the screen, something called “Chrome” is running. I sigh, and go over to the computer. I mouse over to “cancel” and click on it, then go to the “chrome” and click on that to get the little red X. And I swear, to all the Gods and Goddesses, that that is what I meant to do, close it down and shut it off. But then I just thought it’d be open to a search page or a music site maybe, her “mails” at worst. But no. What is now staring at Sirius and I is very clear on that LCD display she talked about. It’s a BDSM social site. It’s discreet in black, red, and white, but it’s still practically blinding us both. “A private site for trained Dominants and Submissives of the BDSM community” reads the tagline, casually giving us Hermione’s greatest secret in three very tiny, supposedly insignificant seconds. I feel like I’ve read her diary or used Legilimency against her will. I feel like I’ve violated her. It’s open to her profile page. A fairly chaste picture of her is her main picture, there are other’s below it, smaller images I can’t quite make out beyond noting that some of them seem a lot less chaste. She’s registered as a “Submissive”, and a list of her tastes appears below a short biography. I can’t speak. Sirius, of course, is nowhere near as shell-shocked.

“I knew it. I always sensed there was something about her. Now it all makes sense.”

“I know perfectly well what your train of thought is. We’re going to close this down, we’re going to shut off her computer, and we’re going to pretend we never saw this and never found out something she’s obviously intentionally keeping secret from us.”

“Oh, Remus. Don’t be such a prude.”

“I’m not being a prude. We’ve invaded her privacy, even if it was by accident. Can you imagine how upset and angry she’d be if she found out we knew about this?”

“It’s nothing for her to be ashamed of,” he says, shrugging.

“I know that, I’m not saying she should be ashamed of it. But for whatever reason, she hasn’t mentioned this to us. We must leave the decision about whether or not she will in her hands.”

“Why do you think she never has?” he asks. I just about resist rolling my eyes at him.

“Do you go around telling people you’re a Dominant? Of course you don’t, in the same way I don’t announce to everyone that I’m your Submissive. If it’s never come up in conversation, why would she mention it?”

“I wonder who trained her?” he muses. “If she has been trained, that is.”

“The website says it’s for trained members of the community. And she says she is.”

“I thought you didn’t want to invade her privacy any further?”

“I just noticed it.”

“I think I should have a look. Oh, don’t you look at me that way,” he says. “She’s on this site, and by the looks of things, this site is meant for people to find their partners. I, as you so astutely reminded me, am a trained Dominant.”

“Are you thinking of taking her on?”

“Only if you have no objections.”

“I don’t, actually. But, if you’ll take my advice?”

“This is a neutral area. Advise away.”

“Be subtle. You can’t just stroll up to her and invite her into the playroom. She’ll know something’s up, she’ll probably guess that we’ve seen this.”

“So, what’s your suggestion?”

“If you’re serious - and I can see you are - you should probably at least scan the checklist. And only the checklist, Sirius. And then, maybe we should let her discover our secret the same way we discovered hers - entirely by accident.”

“Explain.”

“Leave the door open. Take down all the wards tomorrow, and leave the door wide open. When she gets back from work, she’ll see it. And we both know her curiosity will get the better of her and she’ll go in and then voila! She knows our secret and we know hers, and we can suggest she stays.”

“I like the way you think. But she won’t go in if she knows we’re in the house.”

“We’ll hide. Disillusion ourselves, wait opposite. When she’s in, we give her a few minutes, then we go in, and you can make her an offer.” He nods, and sits down in the chair.

“If you don’t want to stay because of some wild idea about protecting her privacy, don’t.” I don’t, and I go on down to the kitchen. Whatever she says on that site, she clearly doesn’t mind people seeing, but it’s not my place to see. I don’t need to know. He does, because it’s his business. He’ll write up an agreement for her to sign based on the information he has there, if she chooses to take him up on his offer. I think she will. And I can’t deny that it awakens something in me, a little crawl of lust in my belly. When Sirius rejoins me in the kitchen, I can see it on his face too. He must have seen her pictures too.

“Did you close it all down?” I ask.

“Yes, I did. Here,” he says, tossing a print-out onto the kitchen table. “I want you to read it, it’s her checklist.”

_Red:_   
_Blood_   
_Bodily fluids_   
_Scat_

_Amber:_   
_Heat/Ice play_   
_Caning_

_Green:_   
_Anal_   
_Oral_   
_Spanking/whipping/flogging_   
_Sharing/party exhibitionism_   
_Machine/toy play_   
_Shibari/Other rope play/Suspension_   
_Threesome/Group_   
_Clamps_   
_Bondage_   
_Blindfolding/gagging_   
_Same sex play (specified by member: Female Dominant involvement only)_   
_Public Humiliation_   
_Task Fulfilment_   
_Public rope wearing (Under clothing)_   
_Public toy use (Under clothing)_

When I put her list down, I can feel the desire roaring in my veins. She’s open to most ideas, willing to try others - only four absolute hard limits. I wonder about her aversion to heat/ice play, but as it’s an Amber limit, perhaps she’d consent to try it with us. Party exhibitionism - by the sound of it, Hermione likes to be humiliated, and that turns me on almost unbearably. I look up at Sirius, see the desire I feel reflected in his eyes. His hands go to his belt, and he undoes it, opening his trousers. “Get on your knees, pet.” I drop to the floor immediately, eagerly, waiting for him to relieve some of the tension that’s built up. He does so magnificently, and we have to scramble into clothes and smooth hair hastily when we hear Hermione’s key in the lock. One glance tells me she’s in a foul mood. She slams her briefcase onto the table, yanking out papers, both printed and covered in her neat writing. Sirius pulls her into a chair before she can start rummaging around for parchment, rubs her shoulders.

“What happened?” he asks, soothingly. This is almost ritual. He invites her to vent about her day, as it stops her from running on a thousand-volt loop of energy and yelling at us all night. We learnt that about two months after she moved in.

“Goddamn Minister,” she snarls. As she quite likes Kingsley, and as general rule they get on well and she normally calls him Kingsley, he must have really pissed her off.

“Making me spend three hours of a Saturday sitting in a meeting with the Romanian Minster, a man who may quite possibly be certifiable. Stupid fool wants to get a cross-border permit to trade in goddamn dragons.”

“Can’t Charlie Wesley put him off?”

“Believe me, he’s trying. He wants to reintroduce dragons to Britain, thinks it’ll be good for our culture. Bloody Shacklebolt seems to think I should be able to explain why that’s a fucking shit idea in terms of Muggle Relations.” She sighs, and I see her shoulders relax under Sirius’ hands, and I know she’s got most of it out of her system. “God, thank you, Sirius. That feels amazing.” A contented little moan escapes her.

“Mmmmm, someone’s happy,” he teases.

“Shut up,” she says, lazily. They’ve been flirting for five years, more or less since she walked him over the threshold and announced she’d rescued him from the Veil. Never did get it out of her exactly how she managed that. Her head drops back, resting on his arm.

“Sirius, get off Hermione before she melts all over the nice clean floor. It’s your turn to cook.”

“So it is. Remus, I think she still needs a bit of a back rub. Why don’t you take her into the living room, put those magic hands of yours to good use.” Hermione’s eyes light up. She loves my backrubs, that I know. And after the day she must’ve had, I bet she’s probably crying out for one. I pick her up bridal style, carry her to the living room. She sighs, content, as I lay her gently on the sofa, slide her shoes off her feet, put a cushion under her folded arms so she can rest comfortably. I set to work, going for the small of her back, feeling the knotted tension there. She groans as soon as I start rubbing, and the sound goes right to my dick.

“Oh, Remus, God.”

“No, just Remus. God had to cancel.”

“I’d give you a smack for being sarcastic, but I don’t think I’m capable of movement. I think I may have melted into the sofa.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, this is a nice sofa, and it’d be really very crap if you melted.”

“Urhhhh…” she says, mumbling incoherently. I work out all that knotting in the base of her back, then work up to the backs of her shoulders, over her ribs. She twitches every now and then, but I know from experience that this is just because she’s relaxed so much. By the time I’ve got her to the point of being unable to move her limbs under her own steam, so to speak, Sirius has rejoined us, dinner in the process of cooking. She doesn’t move so much as a millimetre when my hands leave her, but I know she’s still awake. Sirius drops a careless kiss onto her hair, and sneaks one from me behind her back. By the time she’s managed to regain full use of all her limbs, dinner is ready, but she still talks Sirius into scooping her up and carrying her to the kitchen to eat.

On Monday, we put the plan into action. Five minutes before she’s due home from work, we take down the wards surrounding our playroom, and Sirius props the door open. We Disillusion ourselves and get into position with not a minute to spare, just as she slides her key into the lock.


	2. Hermione

 

                “Remus? Sirius? I’m home!” As there’s no reply from either of them, I assume that they aren’t, and go into the kitchen, dropping my bag in the living room en-route. I put the kettle on, and run upstairs, intending to change out of my work clothes and into something much more comfortable. But partway down the corridor to my room, I pass the entrance to the corridor with Sirius’s room off it, and notice something very odd. The door at the end of the passageway, the door that’s always warded and locked, is now standing open. Light is coming from it. As this is really very odd - not once, in all my five years here, has that door been open - I go down the corridor towards it, intending to quickly investigate to make sure nothing is wrong and that we haven’t been burgled or anything like that.

 

It takes me a while to realise what it is I’m looking at. But of course, it kicks in, and I take in the details of one of the most tasteful, sexual playrooms I’ve ever stood in. In contrast to the dark cherry wood I’ve always seen, this one is mostly pine, oak, and fawn leather. A large window hung with lace curtains admits natural light, and the corners of the room are illuminated with Muggle lamps with red glass shades. The St Andrew’s cross is stained a little darker, but is made of light pine, making the shackles at each corner a glorious contrast. A large glass-fronted cabinet contains toys, whips, a flogger, and a riding crop, while a chest of drawers beside it arouses more than just my curiosity. The lust is burning strong in my veins, and I can feel my panties getting damp. Jesus. I had no idea that either of them were into this scene, and here one or both of them has a secret playroom in the house. The bed is simple and iron framed, the sheets pale silk, the swing above it pale leather. At the foot of the bed, taking up the rest of that wall, is a pile of fat cushions, two set a little forward of the others. In the corner opposite the cross, there is a curtain running from the entrance that intrudes into the room, stopping it from being perfectly square, and I desperately want to know what’s behind it. The padded bench shares the pale leather of the swing above the bed, and I go over to it, run my fingers over it, feeling the silken smoothness of it. I can imagine what that would feel like against my breasts, if I were bent over it, ready and waiting - God. Heat pools in my belly, and I struggle with it for a moment, determined not to gasp or cry out with the force of it. The voice behind me makes me jolt so badly I actually need to hold the bench for some support. I spin round and come face to face with both of them. We all stare at each other, them frank and open, and me confused - I’m not sure which one of them I should apologise to. Then, in the same moment that I notice that Remus is wearing a thick strip of leather about his neck, he crosses the room swiftly, and kneels on one of the cushions, folding his arms at his back and casting his eyes down. I turn immediately to Sirius, and kneel at once.

                “My apologies, Sir, for entering your playroom without permission.”

                “You can get up, Hermione.” I do so; keep my eyes cast down, although my head stays up and my back straight. “You know about playrooms, and the proper procedures in them.”

                “Yes Sir, I do.”

                “That’s something you and I will discuss. For today, now, you have a choice. You can choose, willingly, to go over and kneel beside Remus. That I’ll take as permission and consent regarding these activities. Or you may sit on a cushion by the door, and just observe. Or you can walk out, and we need never discuss it if you don’t want to.” As if I’d just walk out of here. I’ve been looking for months, trying to find a new Dominant, and now I think of it, Sirius is a logical choice. I know and trust him, and clearly he has experience. But what to do? “It’s an entirely free choice, Hermione. And it will have no effect on any agreement we may come to later.” I make my choice.

                “I’ll sit here by the door, for today, Sir.” In those two words, I make my intentions very clear - for today, I sit, but soon enough, I’ll kneel. He nods, and gestures. Remus appears silently, handing him a cushion, which he hands to me while Remus returns to his kneeling position over at the cushions. “Thank you, Sir.” I put the cushion on the floor, but stand uncertainly for a moment. The skirt I’m wearing is damn restrictive, and I’m a million miles from being comfortable or even able to get onto the floor.

                “Hermione, what is it? You may speak freely.”

                “Sir, if you would permit it, I would like to change. I can’t get onto the floor wearing this skirt.” He considers, his head slightly to one side.

                “Very well. I will come with you, chose an outfit. Pet,” he says, turning his head to address Remus. “Undress, put your clothes in the chest, wait for us to return.” Remus nods, but doesn’t speak, and Sirius takes me outside. I open my lips to speak, but he stops me. “Don’t talk now, Hermione. In fact, you’re not to speak until I say you may. Do you understand?” I nod, and he smiles. We go into my room, and he opens my drawers. I’m not embarrassed by him going through my clothes - we’ve all been mixing laundry for so long, he’s already seen all my undies - or most of them, anyway. He picks out my soft yoga pants, a red vest top. “Change.” He makes no move to leave, and I hesitate a little. “Now, Hermione.” He is smirking dangerously. So, seeing no option, and not really wanting one, I unbutton my blouse swiftly, making no attempt to turn away from him. I don’t exactly stand head on and do a striptease, but I don’t turn my back, pulling the vest top over my head and then wrestling with the zip of my skirt. Either he notices it’s stuck or he just wants to come over and help, but either way those clever hands are manipulating my zip and pulling it down, trailing his knuckles after it. I sit on the edge of my bed and roll my stockings off - typical, this would be the day I could find any unladdered tights and had to wear hold-ups instead. I pull on the yoga pants, and stand ready, eyes down, hands loose at my side. “Are you more comfortable now?” I nod again, remembering his order that I wasn’t to talk. He nods approvingly and cups my cheek in his hand. I lean into his palm, and his smile becomes positively wicked. “Oh, Hermione. It’ll be wonderful,” he says, voice laden with promise. I follow him back down the corridor, and he ushers me in ahead of him, closing the door behind him. I sit on my cushion, crossing my legs, resting my hands palm up on my knees and keeping my back straight. When he walks past me, keeping his back to me as he lazily crosses to a now naked Remus, follow his progress hungrily. I watch them both closely, seeing now little clues and signs that they use every day, noticing their attitude towards each other.

 

Remus doesn’t look up as Sirius approaches him, but his head is not directed to the floor. Only his eyes are downcast, long lashes fluttering. I focus on Sirius, watching his approach to Remus - slow, unhurried. There is something almost languid about his movements, something lazy and uncaring. As if the length of time Remus waits is of little or no consequence - which, of course, it isn’t. This is the playroom: in here, Sirius is lord and master. Remus could wait forever if Sirius wants him to. I don’t get the impression he does, as he goes right to him, instead of detouring to the cabinet. Sirius drops onto the end of the bed, perhaps a foot away from Remus, and he lounges there. He beckons to Remus, orders him to come to him very lazily. Remus immediately drops onto his hands, crawls to Sirius, watching him now, his eyes hooded with desire. I can see Remus in profile now, but Sirius is far more visible. He runs a hand through Remus’ hair, smiles down at him sweetly. 

                “Are you ready, my pet?”

                “Yes, Master,” Remus replies, softly. He’s collared, so he says Master whereas I say Sir. I wonder how long he’s been collared, and if Sirius was his first Dom.

                “Good. Now, tell me something. Does it excite you to know Hermione’s watching us? To know that that brilliant little mind of hers is asking all sorts of questions?”

                “Yes, Master.” I angle myself a little, and see that he’s already hard. I swallow. I never knew that it’d arouse me so wildly to see him naked. But I know better than to touch myself unpermitted, so I press my thighs together and try not to squirm too much. I need friction, I need it big time. And they haven’t even done anything yet.

                “We should do her a favour, don’t you think? Do you want her to have a good show? All those back rubs you’ve given her, pet, do you think she’s ever imagined that happening without the clothes getting in the way? All those back rubs she’s given _you -_ I wonder what that would be like to witness if you were both naked.” Remus hisses through his teeth. God, Sirius has a dazzlingly sexy voice when he’s like this, all domineering and dark. I swallow again. Sirius stands, tells Remus he should go to the padded bench, and stand facing it. Remus obeys, crawling over to the bench, then getting onto his feet. He does not look at me, and after I scan him once, I return all my attentions to Sirius. He’s standing at the glass fronted cabinet, opening various drawers. He takes out some items, opens the glass doors and withdraws a flogger. Jesus. Remus is very careful not to look around as Sirius deposits his items on the ground as I get a look at them. A silver plug - no prizes for guessing where he’s going to put that, I think - a glass jar, and the flogger, of course. “Bend forward, my pet.” Remus obviously knows this command, and positions his legs by the shackles, leaning forward so his arms are stretched out. This is not a bench like I am familiar with. The benches I’ve seen and used always support only the torso and stomach, leaving the arms and legs to reach down to the corners and be shackled that way. This bench is long enough for Remus to lie across it and have his arms above his head, also resting on the bench, and the shackles are on the top of the bench. It’s also narrower than regular benches, barely wide enough to take Remus comfortably. When Sirius chains him, I have to bite down on my lip hard. Barely ten minutes ago, I was imagining what that leather would feel like if I were chained like that, naked and aroused, what the cool leather would feel like if it were pressed against hot skin and my nipples, if I could squirm against it and feel it’s smoothness, and now Remus is tied there, and I want to feel what I know he can feel. I should have knelt down on that damn cushion. It’s a serious struggle now not to lose my composure and break all the rules. Sirius is still clothed, and seeing the contrast as he bends over Remus and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss between his shoulder blades, I grit my teeth too late, and a sound of desperation escapes from me. If Sirius hears it, he doesn’t acknowledge it or the tension I see run briefly through Remus. He’s covering his back in hot kisses, but when he gets to the small of Remus’ back, he stops and straightens, walking around so he’s at Remus’s head. The bench is exactly the right height and width for Sirius to stand astride it comfortably.

                “Look at me, my pet,” he orders, and his voice is heavy with desire. I can hear it, see it in the tell-tale bulge in his jeans, and when Remus’s eyes wander from his face down, I know he sees it too. He bites his lip, and Sirius’s chuckle is dark and hot. I can’t breathe, and I’m uncomfortably aroused. My hands clench into fists on my knees, and I force myself to go tense. Unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly with almost tantalising slowness, Sirius pulls himself out. I nearly lunge forward on the spot - with the sole exception of Remus, I’ve never seen anything I’ve wanted so much. I want that cock in my mouth, I want to have my hands on it, I want him to make me beg to be allowed to do that. I want him to force me to my knees and stroke my lips with the tip, let me taste him, let me come so close but still be denied it, I want him to tell me to open my mouth and let him fuck my mouth. I stare at them both through a heady haze, my eyelids heavy with desire. Sirius holds centimeters from Remus’s open and willing mouth, and he in turn is pressing forward, a quiet moan falling from his lips as the movements brings his hips - and his now painful-looking erection - into contact with the leather. “Do you want my cock, pet?”

                “Yes, Master!”

                “Tell me what you want.”

                “I want to suck your cock, Master.” Sirius groans, and moves forward. Remus captures him in his mouth with a willing moan, and Sirius puts his hands either side of his head, and leans into it with a groan. The noise of pleasure and the sight of Remus sucking so eagerly on that beautiful cock is the finishing stroke. This time, they both hear my moan of frustrated arousal, and Sirius snaps his head to look at me. I stare back, desperately aroused, needing something, anything. He pulls himself from Remus’s mouth, leaves the bench and crouches beside him so he’s eyelevel with him.             

                “I think Hermione’s turned on by this. Do you think she’s wet for us, seeing me humiliate you like this? I wonder if she’d like to see me flog you and have you count the strokes?” Remus groans, drops his head onto the leather. His shoulders heave as he gasps. “Answer me, slut!” The command is accompanied by a sharp spank, and Remus grunts.

                “Yes, Master. I think she’d like to see me flogged. I think she’s so wet it‘s making her panties damp.” They’re discussing me as if I’m not even in the room. It just makes it all the hotter.

                “Hmm, I think she is too. Well, then, that’s what we’ll do. Make sure you keep count, pet. I’m going to give ten, but each time you lose count or miss one, we’ll start again.” Remus acknowledges this and Sirius stands, collecting the flogger from the floor. He takes stance on the far side of Remus -  he hasn’t removed or donned his trousers again, and his hard-on is still visible. The first stroke lands, and Remus slams his hips forward, pressing back immediately.

                “One!” The next stroke comes, and I lean forward, almost feeling it on my own skin, _wanting_ to feel it on my own skin. “Two!” It’s over quickly, Remus keeping count although the ten is forced and sounds like it’s being ripped from him. I watch, transfixed as Sirius picks up the silver plug from the floor, walks to Remus’s head.

                “Open your mouth, whore.” The command is obeyed immediately, eagerly, wantonly, and the silver plug slides between swollen pink lips. “Keep it, get it wet.” Remus nods, holding the plug in his mouth, only the base glinting between his lips, now stretched open. Sirius still doesn’t look at me, but I meet Remus’s eyes briefly, and I imagine the lust burning in his eyes is equal to the arousal raging through my own body. When he drops a muffled grunt around the plug in his mouth, I realise Sirius has opened the jar and inserted a finger into Remus. Fuck, _fuck_ , I need release, I need friction, I need to be touched. I feel like I’m on fire, blushes of heat tearing through me. Sirius completes the prep, then slides the plug out of Remus’s mouth, taking it and teasing against his entrance until Remus presses back and begs. He’s obliged, and hisses. The cuffs at his wrists are released, and he pulls his arms in, stretching out the tension. The movement must do something, because he hisses and bucks. Sirius chuckles again. Summoning the cushions, Sirius remains standing, and releases the ankle shackles too. Remus makes no move to stand, waiting for orders, which come quickly. “Undress me, pet.” Remus straightens, turns to Sirius, and takes the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor. He yanks down his jeans, and Sirius steps out of them, kicking them aside. He orders Remus onto his knees. “Get on your hands and knees, show Hermione that plug in your whore ass. Make sure she can see it.” Remus obeys at once, leaning forward to rest his chest on his arms and arching his back. He’s spread out before me like some delectable dish, all ready to be tasted. How I want to taste him. But I made my choice, I chose to sit out, and now I just have to face that choice.

 

But to my surprise, Sirius leaves Remus on the floor by the cushions, and he approaches me.

                “You want to touch yourself, don’t you Hermione?” I’m still meant to be silent, he’s not yet given me leave to speak. “You can answer all my questions, Hermione.”

                “Yes, Sir, please, I -”

                “Enough. Tell me, Hermione, does it turn you on to see Remus like this? Spread out in front of you, entirely mine, mine to do with as I wish, to use and humiliate as I please?”

                “Yes, Sir,” I breathe, staring at Remus. Sirius slants himself, and a hand reaches out. He takes my chin in his thumb and forefinger, tilts my head to him.

                “Strip,” he orders, staring at me. “Stand up, and strip.” I jump up at once, struggling out of my clothes. When I’m naked before him, I make to sit again, but he stops me. One long hand circles my throat, trails down, cups a breast before drifting on, before stopping at my core and cupping around my sex. I gasp helplessly, buck into his hand. “Uh-huh, you naughty, wanton little slut,” he growls. “Don’t move. You chose not to be involved.” He withdraws his hand, raises it up, letting me see how his fingers are glistening in the light. “My God, you slut, you’re dripping wet. Would you like to be allowed to touch yourself when I fuck Remus?”

                “Yes, Sir!” I half-gasp the words, clenching my hands at my back to stop myself reaching out to him, taking that glorious cock into my hand and just feasting. He pushes me to my knees.

                “When I start fucking him, and _not before_ , you may touch yourself.”

                “Thank you, Sir.” He nods, and goes back over to Remus. The evidence of my arousal is still on his fingers, and keeping eye contact with me, he drops to sit on the cushions and extends that hand to Remus.

                “You were right, pet, she’s positively dripping with lust for us. Do you want to taste?”

                “Master, please -” Sirius chuckles and lets Remus suck his fingers into his mouth and clean them.

                “How’d she taste, pet?” My belly tightens, and I think I’m on the verge of having my first ever non-contact orgasm. If I wasn’t already on my knees, I think Remus’s reply could have brought me to them.

                “Exquisite, Master.” When Sirius leans forward, capturing Remus’s lips in his, I know he’ll taste me there, and that knowledge makes me gasp.

                “Hmmm, so she does. Did you hear me tell her that she can’t touch herself until I fuck you? How long shall we make her wait?”

                “Please, Master, I - I don’t want to wait. I want you to fuck me.”

                “Ah, he’s always so eager - my little slut. Of course, you don’t want him to wait either, do you, Hermione?”

                “No, Sir.” There’s a vague part of my mind that’s saying I shouldn’t be so damn eager for this, that I should have at least pretended to hedge my bets for a while. Instead I’m on the floor of his playroom desperately rubbing my thighs together to get some friction and gasping for air as I try and stop myself touching myself. Sirius stands again, looking down at Remus, who’s still at his feet, still in the position showing me the plug Sirius put in, which is still glinting in the light. Sirius wraps his hand around his cock, strokes lazily, watching me.

                “I could just toss myself off here, now, leave you both hanging. Fuck. You both look so damn sweet, so damn wanton. It’s all I need, I could come now, and I could just leave you both.” The frustrated sound leaves my lips because I know it can’t come from Remus. I’m going to go mad, I can feel it. I need release, I need it desperately. Certainly, if he did leave us hanging, I could get it later that night, but I’m not even sure I’d be able to get up and walk out. Every limb is pounding, heat turning into fire in my belly, and I can feel the slick wetness gathering on my thighs. Remus’s arms are shaking, he’s struggling to support himself now. Sirius has succeeded in reducing us both to helpless, shaking wrecks, and he’s barely done a thing. I imagine what this would be like if he’d made it a serious, intensive session and a shudder rips through me. I’m not sure I’d still be able to sit up. He’s still standing, still stroking his cock with long, lazy touches, still staring at me. He walks, suddenly and without saying anything, dropping to his knees behind Remus, withdrawing the plug. I know what’s next, I know it and I let my hand drift. As Sirius slides home inside Remus, drawing a groan from himself and a long, drawn-out hiss of pleasure from Remus, my hand finds its way between my legs, finds the nub and I rub gently, then increase my speed. From the erratic thrusting of Sirius’s hips, and the gripping of Remus’s hand on the cushions, I’d say none of us will last long, and I can already feel my orgasm building. I come before them, needing only a few touches to my clit before I’m gasping for air, that hot gasp-gasp-gasp for breath as I clutch wildly.

 

Through a haze of post-orgasmic bliss, I vaguely become aware that both men have come, that Sirius is hunched over Remus like he’s trapping him with his limbs, and the evidence of Remus’s climax is on the wooden floor, glistening.

                “Hermione,” Sirius says, without moving from Remus, without looking up, his voice off-hand. “Pick up your clothes, go and wait for me in my study. Dress, I’ll be along in a minute.” Shakily, trusting myself not to fall over, I stand, gather my clothes together, and take myself out of the room. I go to his study, I dress - and I can still feel the throb of my orgasm. The most intense experience of my life, and I wasn’t even involved. My God. I don’t think I’m ever going to regain all the feeling in my legs. All I can think is that I want and need to be in that playroom as a participant, as soon as humanely possible.

 

As soon as I regain the feeling in my legs.

 


	3. Sirius

I go to her perhaps ten minutes later, after Remus and I have shared our usual post-coital lazy embraces. She’s redressed in her yoga pants and vest top, and I notice she hasn’t put her bra back on. Her breasts are beautiful, round, pert, her nipples hard and pushing against the fabric of her top. Christ, if it was hard for her in there - and I can tell it was, I could see it written all over her - it was harder for me, seeing that delectable young woman spread out, all but begging me to fuck her. She’s kneeling by my desk, and that in itself awakens all sorts of fantasies in me. I could bend her over and fuck her stupid, fuck her until she can’t walk, move, talk, remember her own name. I want to make her scream. I want her in that playroom, wearing my collar just like Remus, playing with him for me, dancing to my tune. Because I have to sit down before I fall down, I throw myself into my desk chair, survey her.

                “You’re serious about this? You want to be my submissive, you want to give yourself to me, even knowing I already have a full time collared sub and you wouldn’t get my entire affections?”

                “I know that, Sir, and I still want to be your submissive. Full time.” She looks up at me, big brown eyes staring at me. “I want to wear your collar.” Merlin, that image alone -.

                “And I want to see you wearing it, pet.” Her lips curve at my use of that word, and her eyes gleam. “You may as well know - the door of the playroom was open on purpose.”

                “You saw the website.”

                “How did you know?” I ask, leaning back, not bothering to deny it.

                “As if I can’t tell when someone’s been on my computer. My search history, Sir. I went looking for a website I’d been on earlier, a link to a film - and I know I only accessed the profile page to check for hits. But the pictures were listed, the checklist - pretty much every link I have on my profile page.”

                “So you knew all along, that we’d seen it.”

                “I did, yes Sir. Did you or Remus think I’d care? If I cared about you seeing it, I wouldn’t have put it online. If you’d asked, or if I’d known you were involved in this lifestyle - I would have come and just asked you outright if you’d be my Dominant, if you’d take me on as a Submissive.”

                “Oh, I bet you would. So - I have questions to ask you. I’ve drawn up a contract. You can read it, and if you find it agreeable, you can sign it today. But first - who trained you?” Her smile is a quick flash of humour.

                “Charlie and Bill Weasley shared my training between them, Sir. It was in the summer, between my fifth and sixth year, extending into sixth year Christmas and Easter.” Thank God for that. I was half-afraid she’d say a teacher, I know a couple of the Hogwarts staff are on this scene.

                “You were young.”

                “No I wasn’t, Sir, with all respect. I’d turned sixteen, I fought Voldemort and some of his most dedicated followers that summer. I was very far from young.”

                “Yes, I suppose you were. So how did you know?” A slight frown crosses her face.

                “Know, Sir?”

                “That you had submissive inclinations.”

                “I had sex with Harry, Sir,” she says, completely unembarrassed. “When I was sixteen - although he wasn‘t yet, you know my birthday is in October and his not till July - during that year. It kept us sane, with Umbridge prowling about. It was the usual sort at first - but the night after his first detention, when that foul toad had made him carve his lines into his own skin, he was different. He was domineering, ordering, dark, commanding. It was the most intense sexual experience of my life - up until then at least. He apologised, but he helped me explore it a little. I was tidying in Charlie’s old room at the Burrow over the Easter holidays, and I found magazines. BDSM magazines. I wrote him a letter, explaining, and he wrote back saying he and Bill could help me. And they trained me over that summer, helped me find out that that was what I really wanted, helped me find out what I liked. Bill collared me at the end of the summer, but our contract ended when he married Fleur and I had to go away. I believe she wears his collar now.”

                “And have you ever worn another collar?”

                “Yes. For two and a half years, ended about a year ago.”

                “Whose?” She looks up at me, and bites her lip.

                “You may not like my answer, Sir,” she says, softly.

                “Tell me, pet.”

                “I was Draco Malfoy’s collared slave after the War.” I stare at her.

                “I didn’t know he was on the scene.”

                “He’s not on the Wizarding scene. Draco practices in the Muggle arena.”

                “And you said slave. Not submissive.”

                “No, I wasn’t his submissive. I was his slave. It’s quite the story, if you want to hear it?”

                “I will do. However, for now, that’s all fine. Here’s the contract. Here,” I say, extending my arms after she takes the papers from me. “Come to me, sit here on my lap.” She cuddles in, her back pressed to my chest. I brace my legs against the desk, take her weight. While she’s reading through the contract, nodding to herself on occasion, I let my hands wander. I explore her neck, shoulders, run my fingers down her arms, flatten my palms over her ribs and stomach, wandering to cup her breasts through the thin top, feeling her nipples become hard peaks under my hands. She lowers the papers, indicating that she’s finished, and I stop my attentions. She makes no move to object, no sound escapes her. Only the catch of her breath in her throat betrays her arousal. The Weasley boys trained her well, exceptionally so. I would imagine that Malfoy built on that training too, that he’d’ve been a fairly stern disciplinarian. I keep my hands at her waist, clutching at her. Keep her close, let her feel my desire for her, and I know she does, because she presses back against me, the delicious curve of her arse pressing into my hardness.

                “It’s agreed. I’ll sign, if you have a pen.” I lean forward, keeping her trapped, find a pen among the detritus of my desk, hand it to her. She leans forward herself, and the movement makes me groan. I don’t need to be able to see her face to know that her lips are in a wicked curve and there’s a glint in her eye. I know Miss Granger very well. As soon as she’s signed on the dotted line and placed the pen carefully on top of the contract which she places on my desk, I drag her back by the hips, grinding myself into her arse. She moans happily, writhes on top of me. I pull her back to rest on my chest, hold her throat with one hand while my other quests below the waistband of her yoga pants, find her already wet and needy. She mews like a cat when I rub her gently, but keeps her hips still.

                “Let go, Hermione. I want to hear you and I want to feel you,” I growl in her ear, picking up my strokes. She obliges, pressing and rubbing against my fingers furiously, her sexy little mouth open and all sorts of wicked noises spilling from it. Jesus, it’s going to be hard to tell her to keep her silence in the playroom, but it can tease us both - she’ll get to make them, and after a while, they’ll be a delicious treat for me. Merlin, if we could bottle those noises, we’d make our fortune. I manipulate my hand, angling so I can slide a finger inside her, and use my palm to rub her clit. Her hips pump, and she presses down against my hand. Fuck, she’s so damn responsive, so damn sensitive. I remember sliding my hand between her legs in the playroom, finding her positively soaked with lust for us. How she tasted lingering on Remus’s lips. “Come for me, Hermione,” I whisper, yanking her head to one side and biting her neck. Her hips lift and she gasps, and I feel her clench around my fingers, the warm wet of her orgasm evident as I slowly withdraw my hand. I hold eye contact with her, and raise my hand to my mouth. I taste her first-hand and it’s twice as good as tasting her on his lips. She keeps eye contact with me as she takes my hand in both of hers and finishes cleaning it herself. I kiss her lazily, and she responds contentedly.

                “Three months, and if we still find an arrangement agreeable, I’ll have you collared.”

                “Yes, Sir.”

                “No, Hermione. You’ve signed my contract - you call me Master now.” Her eyelashes flutter closed, and the wicked smile curves her mouth again.

                “Yes, Master.”

                “Off you go. And I’ll see you tomorrow, at seven thirty - outside the playroom.” She nods, and sways out of my study, deliberately swinging her hips. Teasing little minx.

 

As soon as she’s left for work the next day, I go into her room, open her underwear drawer. I want something special for her to wear tonight, and I’m unsure if she’ll have anything I want to see her in. She must be treasuring a few bits, and in her bottom drawer, under her winter clothes, I find what I’m looking for. Her dressing table is solid, and the bottom opens as a kind of secret panel, if you pull that last drawer all the way out. She’s heavy on silk and leather in here, and I can’t see many lacy bits. It turns me on massively, knowing that barely a year ago, she might have been hiding this under those conservative tailored suits she wears to work. I get it all out, lay it on her bed. I call Remus, and he bounds in excitedly.

                “Hot,” he says, eyes glazing a little as he looks at the pieces on the bed.

                “What shall you put her in?”

                “I can choose?”

                “Yes. I want her to wear your choice tonight.” He surveys the clothing, all of it black, with the sole exception of one corset, which is deep green: Malfoy, no doubt.

                “This,” he says, picking up a silk bustier and matching panties. “I think she’d look good in this.”

                “Excellent choice, pet.” I shoo him from the room, instructing him to meet Hermione outside the playroom at seven-thirty, and wait for me. I consider the pieces he picked out, notice that the bustier has suspenders attached to it, and that they can be unhooked. I search through, but I can’t find any stockings in either the pile or her underwear drawer. I decide it’d be a little too cliché to put her in stockings as well, so I detach the suspenders and I cross to her wardrobe. Hanging on the back of the door is her little silky dressing-gown robe, and I lay that out with the lingerie, leave a note for her to find when she gets in from work, telling her to wear this. I shut myself in my study, look out my list of the community we move in. I find the address I need, and settle down to draft a letter.

 

_Charlie -_

_How are you, friend? I appreciate it’_ _s been some time since we exchanged letters - three months, I believe, and now you’_ _re back in England on six months leave - but I have news and a proposal._

_It might interest you to know I’_ _ve taken on one of your Submissives. Miss Granger signed her contract with me today, ready for a three-month trial. Anticipating well in advance that she’_ _ll be wonderful and that I will collar her, how about organising a little party? For our community at any rate - and I don’_ _t mean the Order of the Phoenix. If you’_ _re good with this, we can host it here - I’_ _ll set the basement up again. Set the bar at twenty-five? And say May 30 th? Saturday night, nobody has anywhere to be on Sundays. Invite all the old crowd, and I’_ _ll ask Dean if he’_ _ll do the demonstration on ropes again. Remus still needs to thank him for teaching me that one. Let me know if you’_ _re in._

_Sirius_

_P.S: May I congratulate you? Miss Granger really is superb._

I send the owl off and settle back to make plans. Things need to be ordered and arranged for delivery. But I indulge, and spend an hour designing her collar carefully. I want it to co-ordinate with Remus’s, but at the same time have a feminine twist. And it’d look good if they had matching outfits on the night. I’m thinking leather for them, maybe have them cuffed together at the wrist. Perhaps I’ll order a blue/silver theme? Oh yes, that will look lovely - the Submissives in silver, Dominants in blue. It could be an ice party. Last time it was a fire party, so there was lots of red and gold. I remember I did the basement with flaming torches. Yes, I think ice will be suitable. Hermione can make those little blue fires, that will look good. I wonder if she can do them in silver too? I’ll have to ask. Charlie’s reply comes quickly, quicker than I expected

 

_Sirius -_

_How good to hear from you. I’_ _m fine, enjoying my leave mostly. And thank Merlin it’_ _s you she’_ _s chosen. I was half-afraid she’_ _d end up with someone I didn’_ _t know. The party sounds wonderful - knowing you, it’_ _ll be tastefully showy and, of course, brilliantly erotic. I persuaded my girl to do heat play after that little fire party of yours. She loved it. What’_ _s your theme? May 30 th is fine. Bar at 25 sounds fine to me, so we assume for fifty - as far as I know, you’_ _re the only man with two subs, unless Remus is no longer wearing your collar? I’_ _ll get on to the invites, don’_ _t worry about that. I’_ _ll send my guest list before I send the invites, so you can veto it at your leisure._

_Charlie_

_P.S: Thank you for the compliment. I’_ _ll pass it onto Bill._

I laugh at that, and continue with the party plans, after owling back to tell him I’ll detail the theme to him when I’ve seen the guest list, so he can put it on the invites. I figure we’ll have the torches again, but with Hermione’s blue - and hopefully silver - flames, I’ll bring the bench down from the playroom and make it pale blue for the night, order in silver shackles, get silver and blue ropes for Dean, who’s widely acknowledged as the Master when it comes to shibari bondage. He’s had Seamus collared for years, they’ve had the longest relationship out of us all. Seeing them do anything together is incredible. They don’t even speak anymore, they don’t need to. They know exactly what’s being said with the tiniest of gestures or looks. They know a dance I don’t think any of the rest of us will ever be able to learn the steps to. I’m not jealous, I don’t think I’d want that. Takes all the fun out of it - I saw what my voice could do to her, and I know for certain what my voice does to Remus. Party planning takes me through the rest of my day, and I hurry to the playroom to change and get ready for the session before she gets in from work. I hear her open the door, I hear her call out, I hear Remus clatter into the kitchen. Ever the creature of habit, I know she’ll put the kettle on and then run up to change out of her work clothes. It’s already seven, she’s late tonight. I suspect she’d be an awful lot later if she hadn’t had an appointment to keep. I imagine what her face will be like when she sees the clothes I’ve laid out for her. Shocked, perhaps, possibly even aroused. I hear her call Remus up, and his footsteps on the stairs. I hear his laugh, hear her soft murmur and his deeper rumble. I wonder if he’ll help fasten her into the bustier, and just imagining him dressing her for me makes me hard. Fuck. At seven-twenty-eight, footsteps come down the corridor, and I hear shuffling presumably as they both kneel. At seven-thirty-one, I open the door, and neither of them so much as twitch, although it must be a challenge for Hermione, who’s almost indecently inquisitive at times. I stand back, and they obviously read the movement, as they drops onto all fours and crawl, Remus going first. I look at Hermione mostly, watching that cute arse sway as she crawls. She follows Remus’s lead, and takes position on the cushions. She’s obviously burning to look around, see if I’ve got anything out, but, good girl, she keeps her eyes downcast. I imagine chaining her to my cross, naked and vulnerable, leaving her there at the party for people to admire, perhaps use, if they wanted.

                “Up, Hermione,” I order, quietly, and she gets to her feet gracefully, and waits for orders, hands crossed behind her back. I circle her slowly, feel her breasts through the bustier, cup her sex through her little silk panties, feel a tell-tale damp patch there already. Oh, she’ll be a hell of a lot more than damp by the time I’m done with her. I take her hair in my hands, bury my face in those wild curls for a moment of indulgence, smell the oranges of her shampoo. I walk her over to the cross, turn her so she faces out, shackle her in. “Remus, pet, go to the chest. In the right-hand top drawer, you’ll find a leather bag. Bring it to me.” He appears at my side silently, bag held in his teeth as he crawls. Hermione’s eyes widen a little at that, but otherwise she gives no flicker that she’s even seen. I take the bag from Remus, run an absent hand trough his hair as he kneels beside us, waiting for his orders. I draw scissors from the bag, snip her panties away carefully. I leave her bustier on, although I yank it  down a little so her breasts spill from the top of it. It’s seriously sexy, seeing her like this. There’s a little flush on her cheeks, perhaps humiliation, but I don’t worry. She knows her safe words. But just to be sure, I ask, cupping her face in my hand. “We’re OK, pet?”

                “Green, Master,” she says, knowing exactly what I need to hear and even throws in a quick smile for reassurance. But it’s the next gesture that makes even my old heart skip a beat – she turns her face into my hand, never breaking eye contact, and kisses my palm softly. Knowing instinctively that she doesn’t do it to misbehave, that she is doing it to reassure me, I kiss her quickly and then step back from her.

                “Remus, kneel down, sitting on your heels, under the cross, tip your head back.” He does so at once, and the action means he’s mere inches from Hermione’s pussy, that when I tell him to kneel up he’ll be able to lick her, taste her. I’m half jealous. I slide my hand between her legs again, and she tenses. I amuse myself for a time, rubbing her clit gently, just enough pressure for her to feel it, enough for it to drive her mad - but not enough to make her come. Enough to take her to the edge. I lower my hand to Remus’s mouth, and he cleans it eagerly, his tongue darting, mouth sucking, licking until I’m clean. I swipe my hand between her legs again, take some for myself. She’s panting, her hands gripping the chains of the shackles, trying to ground herself, fighting herself. It’s beautiful, seeing her with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks, her mouth open and wet. “Remus - tell me what you want to do to her.”

                “I want to lick her pussy until you let her come.” Hermione moans, and I turn my head to hers.

                “That turn you on, slut? Knowing he wants to lick your pussy, knowing I’d watch you wriggle around and beg when it all got too much for you?”

                “Yes, Master.”

                “Yes? Yes what?”

                “It turns me on knowing he wants to lick my pussy. It turns me on to know you’d watch and wait for me to beg.”

                “Good girl,” I say, stealing a kiss. “Alright, Remus - I think she’s earned a little reward.” He rears up onto his knees, and immediately starts feasting. Her head falls back, and her mouth opens. A delicious little purring sound is coming from her - the kitten and the wolf, that’s one hell of a combination - and she’s writhing around as best as she can while shackled to a cross. She’s up on her tiptoes, her hands clutching wildly, sometimes at air, sometimes getting a grip on the chains, sometimes clenching into fists. I go to my jeans, massage myself through the fabric, see the Remus is wildly turned on. His erection is straining against his own trousers. It’s made all the more erotic knowing that she’s barely dressed and he and I are both fully clothed. She’s gasping now, her cheeks very flushed. I can see little tremors running through her. She’s got to be wound tighter than a spring by now, and she must be teetering on the edge.

                “Master!” she cries. “Oh, God, Master, _please!_ ”

                “What, pet?”

                “Please - I’m going to come, I need to come!”

                “Stop, Remus,” I order, and he does so at once. She cries out with frustration, pressing her hips down, desperately seeking out his mouth again. A mouth that is hot and swollen, glistening with her arousal. She nearly sobs when she can’t find that friction again, and I can see the wetness on her thighs. But it isn’t her turn to come yet, she’ll come when I say she can and not before. This is bliss, seeing the frantic look on her face as she begs deliriously. “Shut up, slut.” She bites her lips, controls herself, but all her pleading is still written on her face. “Remus, stand, kiss her. I want to see her taste herself on your mouth.” He gets to his feet, and kisses her passionately. I see her buck her hips forward, get an angle, and rub against the front of his jeans. “Uh-huh, Hermione, you bad girl. I saw that, and now you must be punished.” Remus steps away from her, and she mewls in frustration. “Unshackle her, Remus, go to the cabinet and get me a flogger.” He lets her out of the restraints, and she drops to her knees at once. I take her hair, order her to shuffle on her knees. I take her to the chairs, the three chairs I’ve arranged very exactly. I bring the bag, withdraw four sets of handcuffs. I order her to kneel on all fours, and she does so obligingly. I cuff her wrists to one chair, her ankles to another. When Remus brings me the flogger, I order him to undress and to sit on the chair in front of her head. When he has sat, I stroke over Hermione’s hair, before urging her down. Now her cheek rests on his thigh and her mouth is mere centimeters from his cock, which is already half hard. She doesn’t move any closer, but I hear her inhale and give a little sigh, and from the sudden tension of Remus, he feels the exhale very, very intimately. I smile at him, and bid him move until her lips – and only just her lips, are resting on his cock. He does so, and I admire them both for a moment. I kneel beside Hermione, and undo the fastenings at the back of her bustier, unhooking the straps so I can yank the fabric away from her, admire her pale creamy skin, a contrast to his tawny gold. She looks so incredible. “Now, pets, here’s what we’re going to do. Remus, you’re going to sit right where you are – you can move your hips. This little slut here is going to suck your cock while I flog her, and you, Remus, will count the strokes. I’m going to give her ten, but if you lose count, I start over.”

                “Yes, Master,” they chorus, exactly in time. I smile, my lips curving, and I step to the third chair. I motion that they should begin, and Hermione reaches forward. He shuffles a little closer to the edge of the chair and she takes him in her mouth eagerly, bobbing up and down happily. I raise the flogger, bring the first strike down on her arse, and she jolts forward. Her moan is muffled, and he sounds hoarse on the One which he utters. I’m not gentle with her, but her moans only increase, his count only gets rougher, and it’s clear he has to force the ten out. She must be doing a damn good job, and I wonder what it’d be like. I may have to indulge. I go back to the bag, dropping the flogger onto the floor, leaving her still sucking his cock. He’s tangled his hands into her hair now, and his hips are thrusting erratically.

                “Not yet, Remus. Not yet.” He groans, but draws away from her mouth. “I never said she should stop.” Hermione reaches forward eagerly, and he is no less pleased to return to her hot little mouth. I take a toy from the bag, smile at him. I show it to her. “Open your mouth, Remus.” He does so, and I fuck his mouth with it slowly, watching Hermione watch it. I withdraw it from him, sit on the chair behind her, reach down to run my hand between her legs. She presses back eagerly, and I replace my hand with the toy, teasing her with it, letting her press back, letting it slip in ever so slightly. Then, when she’s bobbed forward on his cock, I thrust it forward rapidly, and she shrieks around Remus’s cock, pulling from it, her mouth falling open in painful gasps.

                “Oh, God, Master, thank you!” I smirk at that, take her by the hair and guide that hot little mouth back onto Remus’s cock, at which he whines happily. I tap the toy with my wand, and the noise she lets loose when it starts to thrust inside her is delicious. I could come just from listening to that noise. I yank her mouth off him, tell him to stand. I uncuff her ankles, direct him to uncuff her hands, and she stays on her knees, panting deliriously, an unintelligible stream of sounds and words spilling out of that hot, swollen mouth. I take Remus’s place, unbutton my trousers, and direct him to kneel beside her.

                “Don’t you dare come, Hermione. I don’t want to hear you beg to be allowed to until it fucking hurts, you understand, you slut?”

                “Yes, Master,” she moans.

                “Suck my cock,” I say, leaning back in the chair. “I want to see you compete with each other for it.” They exchange glances, but Hermione moves first. She licks me from base to tip, touching the tip of her little pointed tongue to the head of my cock, lapping at the pre-cum she finds there. Remus nudges her off, and he takes me into his mouth, while her little hand wraps about the base of my cock. It’s shaking, and I can only imagine the force of self-control it’s taking for her to concentrate. She runs her mouth up the length, the movement of her head forcing Remus off, and for a moment they work in tandem, before their mouths meet over the head and they share a kiss. I buck, and Hermione takes the advantage and takes my length entirely in her mouth. I feel myself hit the back of her throat, feel her relax, and then, then, _then_ , she takes my entire length. I groan. Fuck, I’m going to come. I shove her away, leave the chair, push her until she’s lying on the floor. Her thighs are slick with wetness, and she’s bucking almost uncontrollably now she has nothing to focus on. “Remus, do you want to come?”

                “Fuck, yes, Master, please!”

                “Come on her breasts. Come all over this little whore’s breasts.” He struggles upright, kneels over her. It takes only a few strokes, and he spills himself all over those breasts, just as directed. I kneel over her now. “Get between her legs. Use your mouth on her, fuck the little slut’s pussy with that toy. I want her begging, I want her fucking screaming.” He does so, picking her hips up in his hands, lifting her pussy to his face, and feasting. She screams alright. Her head tilts back, her entire body lifts off the floor, and she screams. It’s enough. I spill onto her breasts, covering his come with my own, and she cries out at the sight.

                “Master,” she screams. “Fuck, Master, please, please, please, I am fucking begging you, please can I come? Please can I come?!”

                “Remus, move,” I order, already hard again. He moves, scuttling backwards, and I go between her legs. I withdraw the toy, and she howls at the loss. I lean over to Remus, put it between his lips, turning off the thrusting. I reach down, rub her clit once, twice, and then slam home into her. She utters a primal, agonised scream. “Come, pet. Come now!” I have never felt anything like this in my life, not ever. She’s hotter than fire, so wet and so, so tight, and she’s convulsing around me like she’s never going to stop. Her mouth is open in a silent scream, way past the ability to make any noise of any kind. Our come is still glistening on her chest, and I reach for her breasts, squeezing them in my hands, feeling the slick of her sweat and the thickness of come under my hands. I wipe it off over her body, and watching my hands defile her like that is enough to drive me over the edge. She’s still twitching as I collapse onto her, panting. Fuck. Fuck.

 

Three months later, I put my collar around her neck, knowing that I couldn’t have made a better choice. She is utterly, completely, undeniably spectacular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this story.
> 
> This work was originally published on ff.net. It is my own work and has been edited slightly, only for tone and grammatical error correction.


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